


He Lives

by doitsuki



Category: Warcraft (2016)
Genre: AU, Canon Divergence, Food, M/M, Mages, Magic, Mental Instability, Mild Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Oneshot, Public Display of Affection, Recovery, Sleep, The Master Has Issues, idk - Freeform, in the nice way, kek, the raventrust way, the usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 12:19:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8401420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doitsuki/pseuds/doitsuki
Summary: Movieverse: Medivh survived and everybody's trying to accommodate him/help him recover/make him feel loved. For the longest time, he appears detached, feeling responsible for all that's happened. The Fel twisted his mind more than anyone could ever perceive. But he does not speak, for they will not understand. They do not. Except Khadgar.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Anon gave me an idea about Medivh surviving after being crushed by the golem and recovering in Dalaran, under the Kirin Tor's watchful eye. Was supposed to turn into fluff and joy but of course, it became a bit depressing

_“It’s the loneliness that makes us weak.”_

_“I’m here, Guardian. I’m here with you. Don’t…. don’t cry.”_

_“I’m so sorry... Khadgar.”_

The words swirled lazily in Medivh’s head as wisps of thought, silver and grey. It had been a month since the Kirin Tor had brought him to Dalaran for something they termed ‘recovery’, while agents of the Violet Citadel cleansed Karazhan of its demonic taint. Medivh’s body had been healed and his fluttering heart brought to full function, but still he did not feel entirely alive.

Or rather, he did not feel he _deserved_ to be.

He had his own room in the Citadel’s highest tower, a large and cluttered space full of books and blankets. Only two people were allowed in here, himself and Khadgar, who remained his loyal apprentice and follower. Khadgar trailed after Medivh wherever he went, quiet most of the time but eager to learn new things and point out curiosities to his Master. Medivh often nodded, his face drawn and mouth a firm, unspeaking line. Today he strode with one hand behind his back, long dark crimson robes sweeping the pristine paths of Runeweaver Square. It was 5:13 in the morning and Khadgar stumbled along beside him, holding his left hand. The boy seemed to have a sixth sense that related to any and all Medivh-related activities. He honestly valued his Master’s company over his own sleep. During his time in Karazhan, Khadgar had grown accustomed to Medivh’s odd hours. It still didn’t give him the ability to be wholly alert at sunrise, though. Through squinted, bleary eyes he peered at the golden rays of light filtering through a nearby tree. Magical particles floated around and he was drawn to them, tugging on Medivh’s hand. Medivh turned and wandered over to watch his apprentice try to catch mana dust between his fingers. After a few long, peaceful seconds Khadgar slowly gazed up at Medivh and blinked.

“What is it?” asked Medivh, voice low and calm. He had become more reclusive, softer and unwilling in his time here, something Lothar always pointed out to him. But it wasn’t as if Lothar knew a thing about him, having left him alone for six years and expecting him not to change.

Khadgar pressed his sweet little face into Medivh’s neck. “Nothing…”

“Here.” Medivh took his right hand from behind his back and conjured up sparkling white dust, pouting it onto Khadgar’s head. At once, Khadgar became more attentive and felt the magic infuse him with strength. Still, he did not move and kept his face where it was, nuzzling soft, warm skin. At this hour, he and his Master could stand under a tree on the side of the street and hold each other, and there would be no voices strong enough to deter them.

Unless the Lion of Stormwind was about.

“Oi! What are you two doing up so early?”

Medivh cringed so hard he nearly folded up his spine and shipped himself to Kalimdor. Lothar’s loud, commanding voice came from the top floor of the Legerdemain Lodge, where he stood on the balcony wearing nothing but loose linen shorts. Khadgar gawked at him, then flushed bright red and waved. Medivh was suddenly cold, the absence of Khadgar in his neck letting a breeze chill his blood. Nothing else could explain the creeping tendrils of ice that went down the sides of his neck and tingled through his veins…

“Med! You alright?” Lothar leaned over the balcony railing. A thought came to Medivh that he would not survive if he fell at a certain angle. Medivh pushed it away as best he could and mustered a response.

“I am fine. Keep your voice down. It is too early for this nonsense.”

Khadgar’s smile faded as he saw Lothar frown.

“Eh? I’m just askin’.”

“Go to sleep.” said Medivh, and turned away. But Lothar was not satisfied with such a curt dismissal and out of concern, jumped from the balcony and landed in a crouch. He stood, noticing the way Medivh’s shoulders slumped in resignation. Medivh was sick of people trying to talk to him, trying to look after him, for they did so based on their own ideals and nobody _ever_ listened to him. Solitude was comfortable. Conversation was not. Khadgar was sweet. Lothar was bitter. Or so Medivh thought as he turned to face the man he had hurt on purpose when possessed, by accident when stressed.

“Anduin.” Medivh’s pale green eyes met determined sky blue.

“Med. What’s going on?” Lothar put a hand on Medivh’s shoulder and felt his friend stiffen. “Hey…”

Medivh blinked, his hand tightening its grip on Khadgar. This brought Khadgar out of his trance staring at Lothar’s nipples. Someone had drawn a face on each of them, and the man didn’t seem to care. Khadgar looked up in a quizzical manner at his Master, shifting closer to him. Lothar noticed and spoke to the younger mage.

“What has he dragged you out of bed for at this hour, hm?”

Medivh’s hand began shaking, minute tremors running up and down his arm. Khadgar shrugged, an odd feeling nagging the edges of his mind, teasing out strange emotions.

“Bit of sunlight. Catch the early energies, you know?”

Lothar stared at him. Khadgar turned his face away, bashful.

“It… it’s a mage thing.”

“A mage thing. Right.” Lothar didn’t believe him one bit and turned his attention to Medivh, who was still focussed on him to the point of it being unnerving. “Has something happened?”

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with.” He stepped back and Lothar’s hand fell from his shoulder. The fact that he was not immediately deciding for himself what he wanted to do meant that there was some degree of conflict in his mind. Maybe it meant he had something to discuss, but was unsure of how to go about it. Suspecting this, Lothar spoke with as much compassion as he could muster. His voice softened.

“Is it the thoughts again?”  
“No!” Medivh snapped, and Khadgar squeaked as pain lanced through his hand. Far too aware for his own liking, Medivh released Khadgar’s hand and looped an arm around his waist. To Lothar, he said “I’ve caused you enough trouble, Anduin. Don’t bother yourself with me.” And then he turned, eager to be away, without confrontation and expectation heaped upon him. Lothar took the hint this time but wasn’t too happy about it, and his face creased with worry as he watched the two mages walk out of sight. Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention and he saw a small face peering from the balcony. Without Lothar’s warmth to keep him comfy and asleep, Varian had woken and seen what was going on. Lothar ran his fingers back through his hair and sighed. Something was not quite right.

 

~

 

Medivh went about his days avoiding people, a difficult task as he no longer lived in Karazhan with his every need catered to at all times. If he wanted proper food he had to ask for it – the Kirin Tor had agreed that getting Medivh to look after his own wellbeing was a top priority. If he cared somewhat for himself, he would soon realize that his duties as Guardian still existed and there were _things_ to be done. Going about the motions of survival was enough to bore anyone, and one with a mind as sharp as Medivh’s was sure to notice how _needed_ he was.

But Medivh did not feel needed. He felt burdened.

Khadgar sat beside him in the banquet hall this morning, inhaling a heap of sausages coverered in melted cheese. Medivh watched him from the corner of his eye, something more pleasant than attending to the conversation he was supposed to be engaged in. Senior members of the Kirin Tor were discussing the fate of Azeroth as they often did, and frequently asked for the Guardian’s input. Medivh barely acknowledged them, and if anyone dared to ask why he could say it took all his concentration to just eat. He did have a habit of floating cutlery with magic and leaning on the table, using one hand to keep his head up. He was only beginning to grow acquainted with the fatigue that had struck shortly after his brush with death. Often he felt he could not stand straight, but had to lest people ask what was wrong. And they asked because they would seem insensitive if they didn’t, not because they _actually_ cared. Or so Medivh thought. He liked Khadgar’s approach to such things – the boy would not ask or banter about, he would do what he thought was best for his Master and ask forgiveness if needed afterwards.

Medivh ate a bit of porridge from a floating spoon and glanced to the left. Antonidas seemed to be waiting for something. Medivh didn’t give two shits and looked back towards Khadgar, and heard the Archmage sigh.

“Guardian, we really need your input here.”

Khadgar raised his head with his mouth full and hastily covered his chewing with a hand. “Master, they’re asking for you.”

Medivh shifted and ran his fingers lightly over the top of Khadgar’s head, watching his apprentice’s eyelids lower and listening to him purr.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“But…”

Medivh stroked the back of Khadgar’s neck, gazing at him softly. For as long as he kept doing that, there would be no more questions. Just as the Guardian went to focus completely on his apprentice, he heard one of the Kirin Tor magi say something.

“I don’t think he’s even listening. Maybe he doesn’t know.”

Medivh stiffened. Know what? What was he, the master of divination and spellcraft, unaware of? He _hated_ not knowing, despised the unknown more than anything else, for was he not the Guardian, wisdom and strength his duty? If he did not know something when he was called upon to explain it, he had failed his position and he was nothing if not that. Bitterly he thought often on how he did not ask to be born into the role of Guardian, yet was stuck with it until the day he died. And he could not die of his own volition, for he was not strong enough to turn his magic inwards and obliterate himself. He was still human. And he feared failure and continued suffering over the moment of successful pain and eternal peace. There were the thoughts again, derailing any hold and sense he had of his surroundings and sucking him into his mind. His eyes darkened, a brooding aura emanating from where he sat. Khadgar was the first to sense it, then Antonidas, who quickly changed the subject of their conversation. Medivh folded his hands atop the table just as the floating spoon nearby fell. He felt a hundred eyes upon him, though only a few looked towards him. Of course they watched him. They did not trust him. He was the one who had brought the orcs into Azeroth, after all. It was because of him that Llane was dead and the Fel present in a formerly pure land. Medivh stood and vanished. Khadgar knew where he’d gone. But it was not his task to follow – Medivh often sorted himself out when truly alone and Khadgar wasn’t going to interfere with that. A sudden force brought him along the bench and closer to where the Kirin Tor were discussing things.

“Right, Khadgar.” Antonidas gestured towards him. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I… don’t know what you mean…?” Khadgar reached for his plate but then thought better of it and turned to face the archmage.

“The Guardian. He seems to have forgotten his duty.”

“His _duty_?” Khadgar bristled with indignation on behalf of his Master. “If you’ve not forgotten, he has gone to death’s door and back while performing his _duty_. Not one of you have acknowledged that. And you expect him to want to do more?”

“It’s not about wanting.” said Antonidas. “It’s about responsibility. He _has_ to-”

“No he doesn’t.” Khadgar furrowed his thick, dark brows.

“He is the Guardian!” Another mage spoke with a cup of coffee halfway to her lips. “Protecting Azeroth is his job-”

“And if he’s not there, then what? He’s tired, Archmage. None of you know what he’s been through.” Khadgar had told the story countless times, and everyone knew that Medivh’s intended last words had been an apology. An expression of guilt. Inadequacy. Unworthiness. Not fear for his own life or anger at being beaten, but regret despite having done his best. Khadgar quietly despised the principles of the Kirin Tor for having lead them to influence his Master so. He’d read their letters. He saw now how they spoke. They did not care for or understand Medivh, no matter how well they pretended to when in his presence. It was all detached formalities for them. He wondered how any living creature or group of such could be so cruel to one of their own. But they did not consider Medivh thus. He was the Guardian who was not guarding anything but himself. And with good reason, too. Medivh had grown increasingly paranoid during the time that he had been forced to masquerade as a normal person. As a sociable Magus among the common folk. But he did not have the energy to hold up the false standards of others, and so he behaved as best he could. But it still was not good enough, and he knew. Khadgar knew. They saw it in the sneers, the glares, the rolled eyes, the curled lips. Medivh wished he was back home in his tower warded against any and all outside correspondence. But he was so tired. He could not kill every intrusive mage and keep barriers up on his own. It was a task he would not burden Khadgar with, no, not his sweet, loveable apprentice. Protection of any and all things was Medivh’s job, and his alone. If only he had a choice.

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> the Dalaran I write is always the same btw. main hall, banquet area, five towers with one in the center of the four around the Violet Citadel, and the rest is as seen in game.   
> heuheuheuhe
> 
> also reason as to why Lothar and Varian are in Dalaran : STORMWIND WAS DESTROYED OH NOOOOoooooOoooo (AU. lel)


End file.
